Benadryl
by scribbled.ink
Summary: "Dean, it's not gunna hurt you." "You don't know that. It could kill me, Sam. I could freaking die!" When Dean gets sick, Sam offers to pick up some Benadryl. Oneshot. No pairings.


**Notes: **There is no specific season this takes place in, so really, it could happen in any timeline you'd like. As always, all mistakes are on me.

* * *

Dean Winchester stood in front of the truck of his infamous Impala, and took a swig of the beer can he had been holding. Like always, it was a random brand Sam had picked up at the nearest convenience store, and tasted like crap, but it got the job done. He grimaced at the taste, and set it down, replacing it with a gun. The boys had just finished a case in some run-of-the-mill small town, and weren't leaving until that night. Which, in turn, meant they had a few hours to kill. So Dean was checking -and rechecking- the trunk; making sure every weapon was in top shape.

Just as Dean's finger grazed of the trigger, a sharp jab of pain shot through his head, and with a jolt, he fired the gun at a random motel room wall. He set the gun down and gripped his head. The pain subsided in a few seconds.

"Dammit!" Outwardly scolding himself, he re-did the safety on the gun.

Sam then cam running out of their hotel, worry splattered across his face. Once he saw his brother though, it turned to annoyance. "Dean? What the hell, man?"

Dean scowled, replying, "I forgot to do the safety after we shot the werewolf, I accidentally shot the gun. It's fine."

"Seriously? Dean, we're lucky no one's staying this dump. How'd we explain that to a random stranger?" Sam asked.

Dean shrugged, "Look, it's fine- no one heard me. Let's just leave this place. I'm sick of it anyway." Sam as silent for a moment, before he sighed.

"Yeah, okay."

Dean nodded, and turned to close the lid of the trunk, when another wave a pain coursed through him. With his good hand rested on the trunks top, the sudden shock surprised him, and he slammed down the trunk right onto his left hand.

Dean shouted out in pain, and Sam ran to lift the hood. In the heat of the moment, Dean swore loudly, and gripped his hand tightly.

"Dean! Are you okay?"

Dean seethed, "Not. Now. Sam." Desperately trying not to scream at the younger, he turned away from Sam, who nodded and ran back inside their room. After a moment or two, Dean followed his path inside.

Once inside and situated, Dean sat at the edge of a bed, clutching his now swollen, red hand with a bag of ice.

A pregnant silence filled the room, and Sam decided to break the ice, literally. Grabbing another bag, now that Dean's was half melted, he filled it with ice, crushing it into smaller pieces with his hands. He handed the new bag to Dean, and asked, hiding a smile,

"Why'd you smash your hand?"

Across the room, Dean growled. "Shut up."

"Just asking."

Dean scowled, looking at the wall. That was when another wave of pain hit it him. Luckily, this time, he didn't cause any serious injury or damage. However, in the sudden burst of pain, he dropped the bag of ice and gripped his head, hurting his already-in-pain hand. He shouted again, letting go of his head, and made a fist, swearing under his breath. Sam was by his side in seconds. The pain cleared soon after.

"Are you alright?"

"Quite asking me that. I'm fine."

"Dean. You look awful."

Dean look up, and glared at his brother. "Gee, thanks. You look great, too."

Sam rolled his eyes. "Seriously. You don't look good," he said, sincerely. He paused, before smirking. "Are you... sick?"

Dean's head shot up, looking at Sam, appalled. "I don't get sick," he breathed out. Following that, he grimaced in pain again. Sam grinned.

"Uh huh."

"Shut it."

"Look, we've got a bottle of Ibuprofen in my duffle, and I'll just run to the store an pick up some Benadryl, and-"

"No!"

Sam raised an eyebrow. "Dean, you're sick," he sighed. "I don't think you get a say in whether or not you are going to take medicine."

Dean glared at him. "I'm not sick," he muttered, voice cracking.

"Just- just stay here. I'll be back with some Benadryl in a few."

"Sam!" Dean shouted, followed by a rough cough. "Don't."

"Dean, you're sick- admit it. I'll get some Benadryl, and you can sleep all this off, okay? Sometimes you get sick, and you need a=to accept."

"No, it's not that," he paused, frowning, "It's... it's Benadryl."

"What?"

"Get- like, I don't know! Just not Benadryl!"

Sam smiled, amused, before saying, "Don't tell me you're afraid of Benadryl."

"I'm not! The stuff is dangerous!"

"Sure, Dean. Sure."

"Sam! I'm serious!"

"Dean, it's just Benadryl."

"It could kill me, Sam. I could die!"

Sam laughed. "You're afraid!"

"Shut up!"

"Dean Winchester is afraid of Benadryl! I can't believe it!"

"I said shut up!"

"What's wrong with it, anyway? I mean, it's just medicine."

"It's just as much medicine as Crowley is an angel! That damn crap'll kill me!"

"Dean," Sam drawled, "It's _just_ Benadryl."

Another wave of pain hit Dean, and he fell off the bed, and went tumbling onto the floor. Sam proceeded to laugh loudly, bemused, and Dean grumbled, standing back up. Glowering at Sam, he brushed off his shirt, and angrily picked up the ice pack. "Just go," he said reluctantly, and refused to meet his brother's gaze.

"Go get Benadryl?"

"No!"

"Well, be more specific!"

"Just go outside, to the store, to Alaska, wherever, I don't care!" Dean shouted, and added immediately after, "And don't get any Benadryl!"

"Alright, I'm going. I'm going," said Sam, still smiling like a child at Christmas, putting his hands up in mock surrender. "What's your problem with Benadryl, anyway?"

"Nothing- I just don't want Hell's personal concoction in my body."

Sam picked up the keys, and opened the door. "Well, I'm going to get some anyway," he said quickly, before running out the door.

"Sam, don't you freaking dare! Sam! Sam, dammit!"


End file.
